


In Tandem

by MissCharlotteXavier



Category: Shame (2011)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Incest, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicide, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past physical abuse, Sibling Incest, Spoilers for Shame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCharlotteXavier/pseuds/MissCharlotteXavier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my own resolution to the events of the film, quite some time after. I am bad at summaries. Constructive criticism is more than welcome. I can take it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brandon.

He stared out at the familiar twinkling of the city lights.

Usually rather indifferent to them, their typically cold and somewhat mocking presence held a certain bittersweet whimsy tonight, an almost heavy significance. 

It wasn't until she squeezed his hand that he realized, he'd been holding his breath. 

She smiled sweetly, if not sadly, at him, her wide caramel eyes crystal-clear with purpose and understanding. A light resided inside of them now, one that he hadn't seen in longer than he wanted to recall.

He smiled back at her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze in return. 

They turned their gazes back out to the city.

She let out a small sigh, sweet and melodious as she hummed on the exhale. His breath caught in his chest, he had always loved his little songbird. 

Knots formed in his stomach, for no reason and every reason all at once. Swallowing hard, he tried to forced his worries down, customary to his existence for as long as he could remember.

She wrapped both of her small, warm hands around his, and everything melted away.

The effect she had on him, he wasn't sure a word existed for it. He had never really been a word guy, per se, educated though he was. But she was such a force in his life, pushing and pulling on him like the moon would the ocean. She was critical to the ebb and flow of his world, whether he knew it or not. Deep down, he knew, his world couldn't continue without her.

It had always been this way, each of them giving and taking, pushing and pulling, destroying and rebuilding their universes. 

There had been a time when he pretended he hated it, told himself he didn't need her, told her he was better off without her, and she was better off without him. 

She called him selfish, threw things at him, screamed that he was a coward, sobbed and begged him not to leave. She couldn't live, couldn't breathe without him. He pretended he didn't care, this was her drama, not his, no surprises there. 

His heart hurt, that day that he disappeared from her life for years. He stuffed it down, as was standard practice, and told himself that he'd forget about it, and one day, things could go back to the way they had been long before.

He wasn't sure when “long before” was, exactly. He wasn't even positive that there really _was_ a “long before”, or just an idealistic fantasy that he'd transgressed into far too many times to separate it from reality.

But in this moment, here, hand-in-hand with her, none if it really mattered. All of this was trivial, trash on the streets that had lead them to this moment. 

And all the streets were paved with gold from here.


	2. Sissy.

She watched him watch the horizon. 

Glancing out the window, she wondered what he saw in the darkness that she didn't.

He had always tended to be a little more glum than she was, and she wished endlessly that he wouldn't be so dismal. It did him no service to stare into the abyss the way he did.

Looking up at him now, she thought about all the things that could be running through his mind. He was always so secretive with his thoughts and feelings. Knowing that he allowed himself to suffer in silence sent a pain through her heart, he didn't have to be secretive with her. Until six months prior, he'd safeguarded his every emotion, locked away deep inside of him.

It wasn't until the day he brought her home from the hospital that he opened up. She wasn't sure what about her failed suicide attempt had prompted him to open up to her, maybe he was afraid of ending up the same way.

It was a little ironic, really.

Squeezing his hand, she smiled up at him. He turned to her, smiling back, his blue-grey eyes warm and inviting. She loved the look of a smile on his face, she lived to be the one to place it there.

She studied his face, it was as soft and serene as the first time he kissed her.

She remembered that day like she had lived it every day since.

Turning her attention back to the bustle outside, she closed her eyes and sighed, his hand twitching in hers as she hummed slightly. She knew he had loved her voice from the moment she had been able to use it.

She took his large, strong hand in between hers, much like she used to do when they were children, in a vain attempt to warm the chill that lived deep inside of him. 

She had always lived to serve him. Emotionally, socially, physically, sexually. From the earliest she can remember, he was the only one who mattered to her, and the only one who cared for her at all.

She couldn't remember a time that she wasn't in love with him, and she didn't care to. No one but Brandon could ever know her, could ever _love_ her.

He was the only one for her, and he always had been.

She hated the stress that it caused him for her to be constantly in and out of his world, but she honestly had no choice. To see him with other women, other men, to watch him indulge himself in countless lovers, see him always down one glass of wine too many, watch him systematically avoid food for the feeling of that burning hunger inside of him, all due to some deep self-loathing, it tore her apart. She couldn't bear to see her ever-beloved big brother suffer, drowning in himself.

There had always been an glint of fear in his eyes, one that she assumed most people didn't notice. She had a sneaking suspicion that he had a bit of disdain for her fearlessness, her ability to chase things with complete abandon. He'd always been very structured, very calculated. 

The day he had left her behind in the wreckage of their small-town world in New Jersey was the day she threw all caution to the wind. She couldn't believe he could flit away the way he did, it wasn't like him, it wasn't predictable, it terrified her.

What scared her the most is that he reminded her of herself in that moment. She didn't want him to suffer her pain on top of his.

She had more than matched that, on the day when she took his kitchen knife to her skin. She'd come closer to leaving his life than he had ever come to leaving hers.

That was the past, though. Those were the ashes of the bridges they'd burned together on the road to where they stood now.


	3. Brandon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, these next two chapters are so ridiculously short. They seemed so long when I wrote them by hand...

Quiet was all he'd known when she wasn't around.

Silence. Deafening Silence. Introspection. Self-loathing, more like.

But when she was there, there was laughter. There was singing. There was life.

It was all her, of course. He'd laugh with her, and begrudgingly sing when she'd goaded him enough. 

He pretended he hated it, but his heart could burst with the joy he took in being the one to make her smile. She'd grin, overjoyed, thinking she'd gotten the best of him. But in reality, he lived for those moments, even--no, _especially_ \-- when they'd come years in between.

Feeling the familiar pull of hazy nostalgia, he breathed deep and pulled her close to him, wrapping her small, soft frame tight in his arms. She sighed happily in response, he could feel her heart beating against him.

She craned her neck back to look at him, raising her hand to his face, gently tracing his features with her fingertips. He kissed her palm gently, then her forehead, holding her almost crushingly tight against himself.

She didn't struggle against him. She never did. It was a perfect fit, the two of them. They had looked the other way, tried to deny it, struggled to pretend that there was nothing there. 

But they knew it, deep inside. This was right. This was perfect.

He closed is eyes and inhaled her scent. Sweet, warm, welcoming. All things that were innately Sissy.

All things he wished he could be.


	4. Sissy.

Without him, she hadn't really known much except drowning. 

Drowning in feelings, in self-doubt, just drowning. He was her life preserver. He always had been, for as long as she could remember, and for longer than she cared to think about. 

That was Brandon. Predictable, methodical, constant.

Truth be told, though, he didn't always make her feel so great. Not through any fault or action on his part, she knew. She just wanted so much to feel, or rather, to _know_ , that she was just as important to him as he was to her. 

He was the sun and the moon to her, the beginning and the end, everything she wanted and all that was perfect. He was beauty and grace incarnate. She was soiled and unremarkable. Disposable. 

Just as she though she might cry, as was often her state, he pulled her close. Her face buried in his chest, she breathed deep. His smell was an intoxicating feeling of relief to her. Her heart pounded, and everything melted away, leaving behind only tranquility. 

There was nowhere she'd rather be, nothing else that she needed, as long as she was wrapped up in him.

She looked up at him, reaching to his face. His sharp, stern features softened under her touch, suddenly gentle and demure. He gently kissed the palm of her hand, and then her forehead. She closed her eyes and he pulled her in tight once again, breathing her in.

She smiled against him, ecstatic. This was all she ever needed. 

He was her world, her everything fantastic.


	5. Brandon.

Despite his best efforts to keep the embrace pure, he felt the all-too-familiar ache of arousal stir in the pit of his stomach.

He wanted to ignore it, to deny the need. And he wished that he could say that he wanted to deny it because this was his sister, his own blood.

But, truth be told, that just served to fuel the fire growing inside of him.

As intuitive as ever, she began to gently trace the lines of his body with her fingers. Light as a feather, she brushed along his spine, sending an unbearable current through his body, coming to a rest in his crotch. He shivered despite himself, his hand finding its way to her head.

She pulled away from him just enough to run her hand down his side and around to his stomach, slipping her almost-tortuously gentle fingers under the hem of his shirt. Looking up at him, she bit her lip and traced the skin above the waistband of his pajamas.

That was all it took to bring him to full attention.

He drew in a deep, sharp breath as she slipped her hand into his pants, brushing gently along him with those soft, warm fingers of hers. His fingers reflexively tightened in her hair, earning him a low, soft moan as her eyes slid closed.

He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers, and she finally took him into her hand. 

Stroking him ever-so-lightly, she allowed his tongue to slide slowly into mouth.

He held her close, one hand tangled in her hair, the other finding its way under the soft fabric of her over-sized sweater.

He let his hand rest at her hip, gentle, but assertive. He needed her to know that she belonged to him and only him, but that she was loved and deeply treasured.

She pulled away, bringing her hands to his chest and looking earnestly into his eyes.

“Brandon,” she whispered, eyes wide and voice heavy, “please.”

His name on her lips. The only thing in the world that really put joy in his soul.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb once more.

“Anything for you, Sissy.” He smiled.


	6. Sissy.

This was approaching unbearable.

They were so close, so nearly entwined.

She needed him. She was positive that she'd never needed anything more than she'd needed him right then.

And she knew that he felt it, because she did.

She ran her fingers down the curve of his spine, the material of his old, worn-out v-neck was somehow the most enticing thing she had ever felt. He shuddered, running his hand up her back and into her hair.

She was definitely on the right track.

Pulling away to lock eyes with him, she slipped her fingers under his shirt. His skin was so warm, so soft, it was taking everything she had not to throw him on the floor and have her way with him. But she relaxed her self, focusing on the glaze of desire in his soft, hazy eyes.

She took her time with her touch, sliding her fingers around the waist of his pants, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she relished in the feeling of chills racing across his body and him stiffening against her.

Bingo.

She slid her hand further down, ecstatic at the lack of underwear on his behalf. Her fingertips brushed against his suddenly eager disposition and he gasped, tugging gently at her hair. She moaned slightly and closed her eyes, electricity pulsing through her.

He pulled her close again, finally kissing her. In return, she grasped him fully, stroking him gently, languidly. She allowed his tongue into her mouth to play with hers and she melted.

His hands were like Heaven on her, being this close to him was nothing short of divine torture.

His large, warm hand at her hip was overwhelming, his fingers being just a moment away from sliding into her panties, the ones she wore just for him. She thought about the moments ahead, what they were inevitably about to experience together, the ecstasy the were going to reach as one.

If she wasn't ready to go before, she more than certainly was now.

Unable to hold back anymore, she ended their kiss and ran her hands up his body, stopping at his chest and the warmth that laid underneath that thin layer of cotton.

“Brandon,” she uttered, surprised at the rasp that her voice had suddenly taken on, “please.”

He smirked in that perfect, beautiful lopsided way of his, taking her face into his hand once more.

“Anything for you, Sissy.”

She shuddered, those words from him were intoxicating.


	7. Brandon and Sissy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took me too damn long to write and is also my first straight love scene. It's also unsurprisingly the longest chapter yet. Written in a frenzy and unrevised because it's a hurdle and I needed to jump it. [Insert additional excuses for potentially crappy authorship here.]

He had always had a preference for the stern aesthetic. Clean, crisp, professional, impersonal. Almost cold. Everything at a distance. His wardrobe, profession, even his grooming reflected that. 

Sissy was the polar opposite of that.

She was messy. Chaotic. Casual. Inviting. And once she was in your space, she stayed. He admired that about her. She'd been able to create a nest for herself his heart, the one he was sure had stopped working over a decade ago.

Looking at her now, perched so delicately on him, straddling his lap here on his living room couch, he felt the sweet, sharp pang of love shoot through him like adrenaline. He'd felt it briefly for a handful of other men and women, but never so intensely or so honestly. Never so meaningful. It had always ended when he climaxed. But not with her.

He slid his hand up the subtle curve of her, chills spreading over her and culminating in a shudder. She smiled gently at him, her eyes full to the brim with gentle lust. She ran her fingertips slowly over his stomach, gathering the hem of his shirt and pulling it up his body. She discarded the unwanted garment and leaned into him, planting gentle kisses along his collarbone. He gripped her hair, gently, never too rough with her, she was special. She was perfect. 

Her kisses ascended his neck, she stopped to give him a quick, soft nibble just below his ear. Caught slightly off guard, he bucked his hips, his now-painful erection brushing against his soft cotton pajamas, agonizingly thrilling. She kissed his mouth, smiling deviously as she began to grind her hips gently against his, her thin lace panties doing no service to hide her own arousal, warm and swollen. His free hand found its way from her thigh to her crotch, brushing lightly over the delicate lace there. She moaned softly, licking at his bottom lip. He met her tongue with his, gently invading her mouth as he slid her panties to the side, stroking the soft slickness underneath. She shuddered and pushed her body up against his, always the first to want to give into the pleasure. Slightly ironic, considering his own nature, but that didn't bear thinking about right now. He slipped his fingers inside of her, tight and welcoming and god, he desperately wanted to be inside her. But he reveled in seeing her like this, wanting him, needing him, aching for him the way he did for her. He needed her to ask for it, needed to hear the desire come from her mouth.

She pulled away from him long enough to discard her own shirt, quickly returning her mouth to his. He relished the feeling of her skin on his; her warm stomach rising and falling with her near-rapid breath, her soft breasts pressed against his chest. He didn't want this moment to end. 

She pushed herself down against his fingers, hips still grinding against him. He stretched her gently, she shuddered and pulled away from him, a small, sweet gasp escaping her, her hands finding his way to his chest for stability and reassurance. He braced her with his free hand, reaffirming her, comforting her. Her half-lidded eyes found his, sending volts shooting through his body. 

“I love you, Sissy.”He whispered. She leaned into him again, laying her head on his shoulder.

“And I love you, Brandon.”She breathed into his neck, holding him tight. 

God, this was beautiful.

“You're so incredible.”He kissed her forehead, running one hand slowly up her body, gently stroking her most sensitive spot with the other. 

“Brandon, I want you inside me. Please.”She shuddered against him. 

“I thought you'd never ask.”He grinned. She kissed him again before climbing off of his lap to stand in front of him, slipping out of her panties. He stared at her, taking the sight in. It was by far not the first time he'd seen her this way, naked for him, a slight blush covering her body, eyes bright in anticipation. But it was breathtaking every time. She kneeled on the floor in front of him, he slid his pajamas off and tossed them aside. She smiled up at him and wrapped her small, soft hand around him, rubbing her thumb over the glistening tip. 

“Is this for me?”She beamed. 

All he could manage to do was nod. She looked so perfect, so beautiful. Too glorious to be here with a guy like him.

She leaned forward and ran her tongue up the underside of his length before taking all that she could into her mouth. She worked the rest of him with her hand, sucking gently on the head with warm, wet pulses. He ran his hands through her hair, using all he had in him to keep him from thrusting entirely into her mouth. His size had always been a hurdle for them in this regard, but over the years she'd learned to work him well. She curled and stroked her tongue around him, soft sounds of pleasure muffled by his length in her mouth. She'd always taken great pleasure in having him in her mouth, and he certainly wasn't complaining. But if she kept up this way, he'd finish before he ever got to be inside of her. 

With a gentle tug of her hair, he pulled her head away from him. She looked disappointed, but he took her face in his hand and smiled.

“Come to the bedroom.” He whispered, taking her by the hand. She followed him to the softly-lit room, body tense in anticipation as he laid her on his bed, climbing on after her. He kissed his way softly down her body, stopping for a moment to suck gently on each nipple. He left a hickey above her left hip, right over a scar he'd given her when he pushed her off her bike some 26 years before.

When finally between her legs, he lapped gently at her swollen entry, teasing her, enjoying the anxious movements of her hips. Unable to deny her anymore, he slipped his tongue inside her and slid it deftly up to her clit. A low moan of appreciation and relief escaped her, her fingers snaking into his hair. He swirled gentle circles, mixed with the occasional gentle pulsing suck and swift flick of the tip of his tongue. She writhed against him, thigh muscles twitching and fingers pulling at his hair. He slipped his tongue inside of her, eager to taste where he'd soon be inside. She gasped and wrapped her legs around his neck, pulling him in closer, allowing his tongue to go deeper. He slowly tongue-fucked her, he would honestly be perfectly content if this was as far as they went, he could climax just from giving her this pleasure.

“Brandon, please,” she gasped. “please, fuck me.”

He slid his tongue up her once more, giving her clit one last suck for good measure before raising his head to look her in the eye.

“Are you sure? I was having a good time.”He smirked at her.

“I'm way more than sure, Brandon.” She smirked back, pulling him up by the back of his head. 

He leaned in to kiss her, taking himself in his hand and guiding it to her opening. She breathed heavily in anticipation, gripping him tightly, gasping when he finally slid inside of her. They moaned in together, this is what they'd been building up to all night, this moment of unity. He held himself over her, she gripped his shoulders, still for a moment, relishing in being one. She was hot and tight and dripping around him, the most perfect woman he'd ever been inside. They were such an amazing fit together.

“Are you okay?”He asked.

“I'm wonderful.” She smiled, stroking his cheek. He smiled back, kissing her gently as he pulled out and pushed back in again. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back onto the pillows, giving herself over to him entirely. He kissed her neck, taking in her scent.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer into her, he thrust slowly, steadily into her, her tightness hot and incredible around him. She needed him as deep as he could go, thick and strong and so fucking perfect.

“Oh, fuck, Brandon.”She gasped as he picked up his speed, arching her back and gripping his shoulders tight.

His name in her mouth was pure ecstasy.

“I want you on top.” He whispered. She nodded, eyes clouded with pleasure but very much aware of what was happening. He pulled out of her, taking her spot as she moved to take her position on top of him.

She straddled him once more, taking his now-slick length in her hand before slowly taking it in. When she'd completely enveloped him, she sat still for a moment, deliciously full and stretched to her limit. She took his hands and held them tight, letting her head fall back as she found just the right rhythm on top of him. She leaned down to kiss him, wrapping her hands in his hair, sliding her tongue in his mouth, breathing in every bit of him, the thin layer of sweat between them mixing and seeming to seal them together even more.

He gripped her hips, thrusting into her as she pushed back against him, perfect harmony in their movements. Each deep push into her was met with an equal tight grip around him, the sounds of skin on skin and labored breath and soft, appreciative gasps filled the air. 

She began to feel the tingling sensation of climax building, starting in the depths of her and spreading up into her stomach, tight and hot and definitely approaching. She sat bolt upright again, sliding up and down the length of him, taking every last bit he had to give and craving more.

He felt her tightening around him, pulsing hard, he knew she was getting close to the edge. Over the years he'd learned to keep a lid on his own climax when he needed to, this was one of those times. They were going to cum together, if he had anything to say about it. He gripped her hips even tighter, thrusting up to meet her with each bounce, his hips meeting the soft, warm flesh of her ass with a thrilling smack, each one pushing him closer to his own edge.

“Cum inside me, please, Brandon.” She gasped, palming his chest and grinding her hips down against his. He moaned in response, that request from her mouth was almost too much. 

Her climax had gathered tightly in her stomach now, building and building, due to explode any second. 

“Then cum for me.”He gently commanded. “Cum for me, beautiful.”

That did it. She climaxed with a violent shudder, electricity shooting through her veins, stars in her eyes. Still gripping his chest, she kept grinding her hips against him, riding out her orgasm for as long as she could.

He let his own go free, erupting inside of her as she pulsed around him, almost impossibly tight and near unbearably hot. He pulled her close to him, crashing her lips to his, moaning deeply into her mouth as she shook against him. 

They were spent. She laid on top of him, his now-calming cock still inside of her. She rested her head on his chest, drawing circles on his collarbone with her finger, occasionally leaving little kisses. He stroked her back, leaving soft kisses on the top of her head, smelling her hair. 

“If I don't get out of you, Sissy”, he whispered into her hair, “we're going to have to go again.”

“Oh, would that be the worst thing?”She snorted. He laughed and rubbed his face, she was such a brat sometimes.  
“No. But we can't really cuddle like this. And you can't expect me to smoke with you like this.”

“You win.” 

She slowly dismounted him, limbs tingly and the consistency of jello. She collapsed beside him, grabbing his cigarettes and ashtray from his dresser drawer before cuddling up in the crook of his arm, laying her head on his shoulder, content in knowing that he was still very much inside of her. That alone was enough to make her start to twitch again, but that would just have to wait. She pulled the quilt over them, closing her eyes and inhaling the mixing smells of sweat, laundry detergent, cologne and cigarettes, happy to be exactly where she always knew she should be.


	8. Brandon.

He stared off into the middle distance, his heart returning to its normal, reliable pace, the only thing in the room that kept him tied to reality. This was too surreal, too perfect to be his existence. He wasn't used to this, not by a long shot.

He turned his gaze to her, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, she was dancing somewhere on that fine line between sleep and wakefulness. He planted a small kiss to the crown of her head, where the natural black of her hair peeked through, despite the years and years of harsh chemical stripping. He smiled slightly; darkness underneath a bright, fluffy, artfully-crafted false exterior. She didn't even know that her own hair was a reflection of her entire life. He knew that he was heading down a dark thought-path, and that most of the time these things didn't bear thinking. But he was safe here, she was safe here, just like they had always been. 

The first time they had ever accepted that this is what laid between them and given into their feelings, that this is what was meant for them, she was just 15 years old, and he was only 17, though admittedly he had spent many nights and more than a handful of showers thinking of just that as he masturbated, and he was all but positive she had been doing the same when he heard her and her vibrator through their paper-thin shared bedroom wall, he hardened instantly every time, leaning against his wall as he joined her, each of them feeding off of the other's less-than-discreet self-exploration. He wanted her so badly, loved her so much, and he could tell she felt the same, but he was terrified to act on it. She was his little sister, to be treated as such.

He'd always felt decades older than her, and acted the part well. He was protective of her, if not possessive, and she returned those actions with great aggression. They had found solace in each other, each one of them being the only person the other really had. Their mother was distant, cold, and perpetually oblivious- or, more realistically, uncaring- to the pain that her constant criticism and unwarranted cruel treatment caused her children. Their father left and re-entered their lives more times than he could be bothered to remember, leaving a wake of destruction every time. 

He could remember the first time he'd heard Sissy cry out from a hard slap in the face, she was only four at the time, having done nothing more than unwrap a candy for herself, deemed “too fucking noisy” by their short-tempered father, “children should never be heard and seen as little as possible”, and she was “a noisy, greedy little twat”. 

That was the day that Brandon vowed to treat her right for all of her life, he would never hurt her like his father had. He hadn't understood exactly why at the time, and he wasn't sure now that his feelings toward her had always been what they were now, but he couldn't remember a time when he didn't love her with all of his heart. He'd always tried to shelter her from pain in any way he could; holding her while she cried, asking why mommy and daddy hated them, defending her endlessly in middle school when the word got out that their father had molested one of her classmates and that's why he pulled his final disappearing act when they were 11 and 13, fighting for her honor when the boy she lost her virginity to promptly dumped her, insisting that he had done so because he found out that she'd slept with their father, which wasn't near the truth. He fought for her tooth and nail until the moment he'd left for college.  
His last night in their house, he had stood in his bedroom, staring at his life in boxes around him. He didn't know what he wanted to do, but he knew he had to get out, and this scholarship was his ticket. There had been a timid knock on the door, and she let herself in. Teary-eyed, frightened, she had pleaded with him not to go. She needed him, didn't know what to do or who she was without him. He assured her that she wouldn't be without him, he was a phone call away, always. Just over the bridge, right there in Manhattan, anytime. She kissed him, salty and eager and full of honesty. The rest is history.

She had visited a few times, drinks and dinners and parties and fun and thrilling, passionate sex. He'd considered moving her to be with him, but she had her own life to live. He'd kept his promise his first year away, visiting at holidays, calling every evening, in constant contact with his more-than-beloved little sister.

Eventually he stopped coming home, unable to face their mother, and she had understood, at least he was still calling. He called less and less, stopped bringing her out to visit. They didn't speak for weeks, months at a time, she was becoming not herself, he was becoming not himself. She took herself off of the meds that helped her stay even-keeled, he discovered the undeniable curative powers of copious amounts of anonymous sex, it became all-consuming to him. He had failed her, lied to her, betrayed her. He said he'd always be there, yet there he was, ignoring her calls and texts, no matter how many he got. He just couldn't bear for her to see what he had become. He was not who she had known or loved, and she shouldn't have to see him this way, not after everything she'd already had to go through in her short life. She deserved a better man than he could ever be, and he could never be that man again. 

He knew it had to be more complex, deeper, more complicated than just knowing who he was supposed to be with, but he couldn't help but feel that the driving force of his so-called addiction was the immense lack of his true love. He scoffed at himself, amused by his own silly notion. True love wasn't something he had thought existed, but here he was, all butterflies and breathlessness over another human being. It was undeniable that he loved her more than words. No one mattered to him like Sissy. Not even close. He turned his gaze back to the wall in front of him, breathing deep and closing his eyes. He'd had enough introspection for one night. Time to just enjoy the moments they had.


	9. Sissy.

This. Was. Bliss.

She laid there, silent, listening as his breathing slowed and he drifted off into sleep. This was everything she had ever dreamed of. In his home, in his arms, in his life. Everything she had ever wanted, the picture of perfection, right here, happening. She nearly pinched herself to make sure she wasn't already dreaming. She nuzzled his shoulder, he smelled so sweet in his own way. No one she had ever met had a scent so intoxicating to her. It was mixed with her own perfume now, her heart skipped a beat as she smelled herself on him. She wanted to bottle the smell and douse the world in it.

The love she felt for him was the kind of thing that novels were written about, that young girls daydreamed about. Well, it would be, if it weren't her brother that she was so head-over-heels for. She laughed lightly at the idea, an incestuous love story for the ages. She didn't care. She wanted to scream from the mountain tops, call every person in every phone book, declare her undying love to anyone who cared to listen. “I'm in love with my big brother, and he's in love with me!” She'd scream, unashamed and unafraid. Who was anyone to judge them, anyway? 

She was fairly sure she'd fallen hard for him around the age of 12. Panicked, she'd gone to visit her guidance counselor, asking what would make her fall in love with someone, going out of her way not to mention names. He had told her that it was likely just her growing up, and it was just a crush, they come and go. She waited, and waited, and every day, she felt stronger for him. She'd dated other boys, but no one was Brandon. No one could ever be Brandon. He'd been so good to her, helped her through some of the hardest time in her life, despite him living the same. More times than she could remember, he'd stepped in and taken a punch from their father for her, he'd defended her against the venom their mother could spew, no matter what the consequences were. She was weak against the woman, but it didn't matter, he made her strong. Stronger than everything they were up against, so many things she had locked away, never to be thought of again. He remembered them, she knew, he had brought everything up in the handful of her therapy sessions that he had sat in on. But she didn't want those memories. She wanted memories like this.

She had lost herself when he left for college. He said he'd always be there, they would always be a pair, nothing could come between them. He'd lied, and she resented him with pure fire in her stomach. She eventually told herself that he didn't want anything to do with her, she had been a fool, once again, and needed to get on with her life. This codependency was not healthy. On her own for the first time, she tried to follow in his footsteps, unaware that what he was doing wasn't making him happy, not in the least. She only saw the illusion, what he had allowed her to see. She threw herself at a stream of men, drunk more than half of the time, making promises she couldn't keep, borrowing money she couldn't pay back, taking everything handed her way with complete and utter disregard of any potential consequence. Who cared? She was having fun. And that, after all, is what life is about. If she was laughing, everything was fine, and that's all she needed to know. She eventually tossed her medication out in a fit, he had been the one that told her she needed them, what the fuck did he know about her? Nothing. The last she had heard, he was around town with someone else, clearly he had forgotten about little old her, and she intended to return the sentiment. Eventually she ended up at his doorstep again, heart made of lead and stomach in knots, she was a wreck, no matter how much she pretended to be fine, it had gone beyond him now, it was deep in her soul, in her mind, and he was the only one she knew she could turn to. He ignored her pleas for help, though he did offer up his couch to her. That was the week she made the first attempt on her life. It was hopeless if he couldn't repair her as he always did before. She understood, now, that it was on her. He could not fix her, she could only fix herself. If you'd ask her in this moment, she'd tell you she was fixed. Or getting there, at least. 

He stirred slightly and she craned her neck to look at him, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw. He rubbed her shoulder and kissed her forehead in return. 

Yes, she was definitely getting there.


End file.
